


Eggshells

by laphicet



Category: Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, Rating May Change, Trans Character, taichi is a sad single father, taichi is daisukes dad and also trans and beautiful, yamato is 33 and still an angsty teenager somehow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5813737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laphicet/pseuds/laphicet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taichi and Yamato went their separate ways after graduating highschool; their friendship ended violent and bitter, and Yamato swore he never wanted to see Taichi again.  </p><p>Now thirty three years old, Yamato is barely keeping up with life's punches and nobody has heard from Taichi in years. </p><p>Somehow, fate sends them flying back together again. But when they're walking on eggshells around each other constantly, can what was broken really be mended?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sun would just not give up.

Sunlight poured through Ishida Yamato’s windows, and it made his whole room annoyingly bright. If the sun was tangible, he could’ve punched it and made it burst into bits, solar energy and all life on earth be damned.

The sun was his enemy, you see; it woke him up everyday and brought him back into his sullen, miserable life. Each day he would wake up, fall out of bed, only sometimes brush his teeth, and just exist. At thirty three years old, Yamato was finding it difficult to do even that. What was the point of going to his job each morning, getting cash to pay the bills and feed the government? Yamato was positive he’d stumbled into a vicious cycle, one that he could never escape.

Yamato was working for the man now.

His days passed by in blurs, people’s faces were distorted and all the same, customers came and went in flashes. He sported a simple convenience store job, working at the cashier and ringing people up.

“Would you like your change?” He’d ask, speaking to some faceless person. “Would you like a receipt?”

It was becoming clear to him that this was adult life. There were no spotlights, no booming amps and adoring crowds, no screaming his voice raw into the blazing, beautiful lights, and there was certainly no passion.

“Yamato, you need to get out more often!” Mimi scolded on the phone, clanking and crashing sounding behind her somewhere. “I mean, who have you even talked to in the past month?”

“You,” He replied, stupidly, his voice coming out more exasperated than he would’ve liked. “Sora. Takeru. I don’t know, people? I get out.”

“Bars don’t count!” She shot back at him, a burst of static sounding from the receiver. Mimi’s voice came from farther away. “Sora, could you please tell this man he needs to make some friends?”

Yamato heard rustling from the other line, and a few good murmurs before Sora’s voice came from the phone.

“You need to get out more,” She said, blunt as ever.

Yamato wanted to groan.

Mimi and Sora always graced him with phone calls each evening, to check in and chat, see how he was doing. He appreciated it, mostly; the two of them were lively, that was for sure, and he knew they cared about him.

Yamato had always liked Sora; they’d dated in high school, briefly, but it just hadn’t really worked out. They were still good friends, though, and after landing a spot on a soccer team Sora had made it good with money, and had eventually moved in with Mimi. Mimi, determined, heartfelt Mimi, was working a desk job in the fashion industry. The two of them had fallen in love and Yamato was happy for them, really. At least they had it all figured out.

"You're just in a slump! Moving to a whole new city and stuff, away from your friends," Mimi cleared her throat, "it's hard! You've just gotta get into the groove, y'know?"

"Get into the groove," Sora agreed. 

"I mean, you could get in touch with your other friends, at least? When's the last time you talked to Joe? Joe's fun!"

"Joe's fun. He's all wrapped up in his business now," Sora was saying, but Yamato was having a hard time paying attention, picking at the edges of his phone case. "Listen, Mimi, could you go feed the cats for me?"

He heard Mimi laugh a little. "Sure thing!" She chirped, and he heard her bound off, her steps so loud and fast it was audible through the phone.

A bang sounded from upstairs, distracting him a bit. Some new family had moved in, and there was some kid up there who would crash around all day and night. Annoying.

"Yamato."

He stilled a bit, a bit unsettled by the serious tone of her voice, brought back down to earth. "Yes, Sora?"

"Have you..." She cleared her throat. "Have you heard from Taichi at all...?"

"You know I haven't."

"Oh." She sounded sad, and he felt little pricks of frustration poke his chest with this topic. "It's just... y'know, I figured if he were to reach out to anybody, it might be you."

Yamato wanted to hang up the phone, and if it was anybody but Sora he would've. But he knew this was a hard topic for her, so he would put up with it.

"You know I haven't. It's been years, Sora." He tried to say it gently, but he was afraid his tone still came out bitter. "You should let it go."

"Okay. We'll call you tomorrow, then?"

"Sure."

\--

If there was one thing that Yamato did, it was this:

Ishida Yamato definitely did not think about Taichi Yagami.

He didn't like to think about him. It made his stomach twist angrily, even after all those years. It pissed him off. 

Yamato talked to Sora and Mimi all the time. He heard less from Takeru and his relationship with Hikari was distant. He hadn't spoken to Joe or Koushiro in a good while.

Nobody had heard from Taichi in five years.

Yamato sighed, slumping down onto his couch. It was annoying to think about it. It was all just boring drama, he didn't need that. He and Taichi weren't friends anyway.

The two of them had gone their separate ways after graduating high school. That is, they'd gone their separate ways after screaming at each other, punching and kicking and scratching for the last time.

They'd gotten into a million fights before, but that last fight had been violent and brutal. Not that Yamato would ever admit it, but he'd cried after, choked out big, ugly sobs. He'd waited for Taichi to call.

He hadn't. They'd gone their separate ways after school, and Yamato stopped thinking about him. At times, he'd suddenly remember the brush of Taichi's shoulder against his, or his weird kid goggles, or how it had felt to have a best friend, and he would feel bitter.

And then, Taichi just disappeared. He cut off contact with everybody and nobody had heard from him since.

Ishida Yamato hated Taichi Yagami. And he definitely, definitely didn't think about him anymore.

Yamato felt like there was a hole in his brain. Maybe Sora and Mimi were right, he needed to get out. Maybe he was in a slump.

He sat up a little, the gears in his brain huffing and puffing and beginning to turn. He was in a whole new city, right? Who said he couldn't reinvent himself a little bit, just for one night?

Who said he had to be the same old, boring Yamato? It was the epiphany of a lifetime, and a long overdue one in his eyes.

He would become a brand new Yamato. A cool Yamato. An asshole Yamato. A slick Yamato.

Yamato had the rest of the evening perfectly planned out. He would march hinself downstairs, drive down to the raggedy bar downtown and get hammered, and drunkenly play some tunes with his guitar. He was planning on a ninety percent chance of puking sometime during the night, and possibly getting into a fight. 

What Sora and Mimi didn't know wouldn't hurt them. 

He grabbed his jacket from the couch and grappled for his keys in his pocket, making sure they were with him before shutting the door tightly behind him. His jacket reeked of cheap leather and he'd never felt more prepared in his life to fuck himself up, spinning his keys around his fingers as he made his way down the hall.

At the end of the hallway, there was a little kid teetering around unsurely, chubby little hands balled into fists. He kept looking around, big brown eyes looking scared and frustrated. It was obvious he needed help. Yamato was pretending not to notice. The new Ishida Yamato hated kids. The new Ishida Yamato would step on kids. He would stomp on their candy and laugh, throw the shattered bits in their face and-- 

Yamato sighed as he came to a stop, kneeling down by the child. 

"You lost, kid?" He asked, voice coming out more tired than he would've liked. 

The kid seemed uneasy, just staring at him with no response. Yamato was uncomfortable. He liked kids, he really did; he'd taken care of Takeru for so long that it was natural for him, even, but he didn't know how to handle it when they stared at him like that. 

Finally, after a painful period of silence, the kid nodded at him and puffed out his cheeks a little. Yamato could relate to that. 

"Alright, then," He said, standing up and offering his hand for the kid to hold, a resigned feeling sitting heavy in his stomach. "Let's get you home." 

To his relief, the kid didn't put up a fuss about following him and grabbed onto his hand immediately, forcefully, surprising Yamato with the eagerness he'd thrown himself at his hand with.  

"Okay... Do you know if you came from downstairs, or upstairs?" He asked, looking down at the kid.

"Upstairs," The kid replied, disposition totally different from moments ago. "I kicked my soccer ball out of the door and it rolled down the stairs. I don't know where it went! Do you like soccer? I'm Daisuke! I'm five." 

Yamato could barely keep up with the kid; he was talking so fast he'd had to take a huge breath after he was done. He guessed the kid must've just been scared before, or something. 

"I'm Yamato," He mumbled, feeling a bit  awkward as he looked down at the kid. "I'm thirty three."

It was dawning on him that this must be the kid who'd moved into the apartment above him, who kept stomping around and making a ruckus. Yamato tried not to feel too resentful. He hadn't seen the kid before, at least, he was sure. 

Daisuke's knees were scraped and bandaids that were too small to cover the scratches were pasted on, and his hair was brown and rumpled, sticking up at every angle. Seems like a troublemaker, Yamato was thinking, but something was bothering him about the kid, something he couldn't quite place-- 

"I just moved in with my dad!" Daisuke was saying, his small hand sweaty where it clasped Yamato's, looking up at him and not at where he was going as the two of them made their way up the stairs. This kid was going to give him a heart attack. "He said he'd teach me some soccer tricks, but he hasn't yet. Do you know any soccer tricks? I can bounce the ball on my knees now. Hey, that's my apartment!" 

He blinked as Daisuke let go of his hand and ran ahead. Yamato wiped his sweaty hand on his jeans and followed the little kid, watching him fly into his apartment. 

The door had been left hanging open, which matched what Daisuke had described about kicking the ball out of the open door, feeling uneasy as he approached the room.

From what he could see, the inside looked messy, clothes and dishes strewn about. Yamato wondered how an apartment could be so cluttered after the residents had only just moved in. From inside, he could hear Daisuke yelling something. 

Yamato shifted awkwardly and stuffed his hands into his pockets as the kid emerged, a slumpy adult in tow. It seemed Daisuke's guardian-- father, if Yamato remembered right-- also had troubles keeping up with the kid. 

"Please excuse my child," The dad mumbled, head bowed. Yamato squinted a little. 

There was something weird, something not quite right. His legs felt like lead, or jello. One or the other. 

"Thanks for walking back with him, he gets a bit nervous alone, and..." Daisuke's father looked up, finally, after tugging at his sweater for a few moments, and Yamato's stomach dropped. 

"I don't!" Daisuke insisted, tugging on his father's sleeve. 

Yamato barely heard him. 

"...Taichi?" He finally croaked out, and he watched as recognition bloomed across the other man's face. 

It was the face of Taichi Yagami, only older and much more tired. 

Yamato's foolproof plan for the night had only gone right in one way: 

There was definitely still a ninety percent chance of him puking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everybody!! 
> 
> so this is my first work ever posted to ao3, sorry if the first chapter was a bit short, im just trying to get the ball rolling and stuff , 
> 
> i hoped you liked it !! feel free to kudo and comment, hopefully i can get chapters uploaded fast !!


	2. Chapter 2

To say that Yamato had issues with his anger management was an understatement. 

He liked to hail himself as the king of coolness and remaining absolutely chill, aloof, unattainable, suave and mysterious and never letting anything get to him. That was who he wanted to be, at the very least, but try as he may, Yamato had never been able to turn his switch off when he was angry. 

Looking back, he would be embarrassed at his rash behavior. However, Yamato in that moment knew nothing but anger and pain and disgust as he looked at Taichi’s face looking back at him. 

Taichi’s face, an older, much more tired version of himself, lifted in surprise. 

“Shit.” His voice sounded croaky, his eyes darting around a bit nervously as he let out an awkward laugh. “Yamato?” 

Daisuke’s eyes passed between the two of them in surprise, his form small and tucked up next to Taichi. 

Yamato’s stomach was in knots, sick and twisting with outrage. After all that time, five years, this was who had been hiding from him. Just a sad, stupid old man. It was pathetic! How dare he show up in front of Yamato after so much time! 

Yamato’s sense of justice had always been strong, and he could not hold it back anymore. 

“What the fuck!” He exploded, a flailing mass of arms, his chest clenching up angrily. Taichi flinched, but it only made Yamato want to deck him. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Huh? You think you can just-- just show up here--” 

He wanted Taichi to feel bad, fucking awful for everything he had done to Sora and Mimi and the rest of their friends, but Taichi only looked surprised. Surprised, and very, very tired. It was frustrating, like he didn’t even understand the pain he had caused. 

In fact, Yamato was the only one feeling bad, once he realized that Daisuke was still standing there, his expression wide and afraid. He watched Taichi lean down and murmur to him things that Yamato couldn’t hear. Daisuke nodded once at him, his small feet padding on the floor as he ran back into the apartment, the door shut softly behind him. 

An uneasy silence was caught in the air as Taichi turned back to him. He looked like a stranger-- he was, really, because Yamato did not know who he was anymore, after so long. He felt sick. 

“Listen, Yamato,” Taichi said eventually, his expression unreadable. “I don’t… I don’t know what to tell you, okay? I’m sorry.” 

“You shouldn’t be apologizing to me,” he scoffed. Rage was filling him again, his fingers balling into fists as he stared at him. “We aren’t friends. You need to call Sora and Mimi and everybody else and give your explanation to them, I don’t want to fucking hear it.” 

“Yamato…” 

“Stop talking!” He snapped, waving his arms at him. Taichi drew back, chewing his lip in a way Yamato could tell was anxious. “Just shut up! I’m leaving!” 

He didn’t feel bad for Taichi, not one bit, as he stomped away. He didn’t look back to see the expression on his face, didn’t want to think twice about Taichi at all as he clambered highspeed down the stairs all the way back to his apartment and slammed the door. 

Yamato fell bonelessly against his door like a highschool girl in a drama, smacking his head against the wood and letting out a noise of frustration. 

To deconstruct his feelings in that moment was impossible, but they were suffocating him, making him terrified they would swallow him whole and tear him limb by limb, his breaths ragged and fast and angry. It was years and years of pent up feelings, anger and grief that he didn’t like to admit existed for him, still, after so much time. 

Taichi had moved upstairs and destroyed everything, completely annihilated Yamato’s adult life as he had known it-- he hated it, how after so long, Taichi still managed to get under his skin. He had taken his knife and just drove it under like it was winning a race, brutal and cruel. 

He kicked his door in rage, and he kicked his couch and his kitchen counter for good measure, consumed by his outrage. He hadn’t cared where Taichi was, he was angry on his friends’ behalf, so why did it hurt him so much? Yamato was an adult, thirty three years old, and he had locked all his memories of Taichi Yagami in a “do not touch” box deep inside of his brain after highschool. 

It was impossible for him to figure out his own feelings, it always had been, but he was so angry that he cried until his voice was raw, like a little toddler throwing a fit. Yamato could not quell his rage or console himself, he just let the tears burn down his cheeks, wiping snot from his face when he couldn’t breathe anymore. 

Yamato felt sorry for himself. When he had ran out of steam, he just laid on his floor like a ragdoll, twitching every now and then. He quite literally cried himself to sleep, his temper tantrum wearing him down to the bone and making exhaustion set into him. 

He knew he was being childish. He knew, and yet he couldn’t stop it, floodgates broke open on years of pent up emotion. They had been all jammed up inside him, crammed inside painfully like a square being shoved through a circular hole, until the whole theoretical contraption caught on fire and he died. 

See, this was the pathetic part of it: Yamato had set out, that night, to become somebody new. Instead, he had regressed back years and years, childlike and protesting and crying until he could no longer speak. 

It was similar to the him after his graduation night, where he had wiped the blood from his mouth spilled by Taichi’s fist, and waited for him to call. 

He had waited, and waited, and waited. 

The call never came.

\-- 

Yamato woke up with his eyelashes sticky and stuck together from dried up tears. It was a disgusting feeling, and he felt absolutely disgusting and the world felt disgusting. 

Even more disgustingly, he had been awoken by an insistent knocking on his front door. Yamato stood up from where he had been sleeping on the floor, his joints creaking and cracking. The knocking didn’t stop, a constant rapping on his door that was going to make him pop a vessel if it continued. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he grumbled, slumping over to his door. He opened it, surveying the space in front of him and seeing nothing. It was only when he looked down that he realized his guest was of a shorter stature. 

It was Daisuke standing there and looking a bit unsure, shuffling his feet. His back straightened up immediately when Yamato looked at him, his expression filling up with fire. Daisuke thrusted forward a soccer ball like a shining gold trophy. 

“Yamato! Will you play soccer with me?” Daisuke started hopping from foot to foot and fidgeting, nearly dropping the ball in his hands. 

Needless to say, Yamato had an idea who Daisuke had gotten all that energy from. He didn’t want to think about that, but he was shocked that the kid was talking to him, let alone knocking on his front door and asking him to play. He had been under the impression that he’d shattered Daisuke’s soul and good image of him after yelling and swearing at his dad-- he did feel a bit guilty, if only for scaring Daisuke. 

It was an uncomfortable situation, and he just stared at him uneasily. In a way, he felt like he owed it to him, but it was… weird. He was so much like how Taichi had used to be, so much that he didn’t know how he hadn’t recognized him immediately, and it wasn’t like he wanted to waste time playing soccer with him, anyways. 

“Yamato?” Daisuke’s voice cut him from his thoughts. “C’mon! Soccer is really fun! My dad won’t go play with me, I need you!” 

Yamato set his hands on his hips, squinting at the kid a little. He was a strange one, and Yamato let out a heavy sigh, watching the little kid fidget. 

“Okay, alright,” he said. He really did have a weakness when it came to kids, he couldn’t help it. “Let’s go.” 

“Yes!” Daisuke cheered, jumping up and down. He practically zipped down the hallway, tripping over his feet and squeaking, his wild hair bouncing left and right. What was Taichi feeding this kid? Yamato stuck his hands in his pockets and meandered after him, his feet trailing. 

He was still wearing his leather jacket and everything else he had been wearing the night before and it felt wrong, shifting uncomfortably as he walked with his hands in his pockets. He really needed a shower, even a vacation, a long break from whatever his life was turning into. 

Yamato had no intention of ever speaking to Taichi again no matter how close he lived, and he would only play with Daisuke the once. That was the plan and he would stick to it like his life depended on it. There was absolutely no way he would get to know Taichi again, even through his son.  
He blinked, disoriented, when he was finally out in the sun. His head was throbbing painfully and the white bright rays didn’t help whatsoever, but Daisuke was yelling excitedly in front of him so he kept moving as best as he could. 

“Yamato! Look at me!” Daisuke spun around and bopped the ball wi th his knees, managing to keep it there and bouncing it from knee to knee, his expression so focused it was almost funny. 

“Impressive,” he replied cooly, leisurely stretching his arms over his head, his joints popping and making him wince. “C’mon, let’s kick it back and forth. I’ve got places to be.” 

The two of them spent time kicking the ball back and forth to one another in the grass. Daisuke missed his kicks a lot of the time, but when he landed them they would roll full force like a torpedo towards Yamato, and he would do his best to kick the ball back. Daisuke’s white sneakers were turning green in the grass, mud sticking to them whenever he would stomp excitedly. 

The more intense version of the game had ended once Daisuke had kicked himself into exhaustion, and the air had gone from one filled with all his little cheers and taunts to a relaxed silence as the two of them kicked the soccer ball back and forth. 

Yamato was tired, and he wouldn’t admit it but it was fun hanging out with him, Taichi’s weird kid. It wasn’t so bad, playing soccer with an overzealous five year old. 

He was about to announce that he had to leave when Daisuke decided to speak. 

“Hey, Yamato. What happened with you and my dad?” Daisuke’s eyes were downcast, like he was focused on the ball. He kicked it back to Yamato at the end of his sentence. 

“That’s… a long story.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Really, you don’t need to know about it.” He kicked the ball back to Daisuke. 

“Oh,” Daisuke said, processing that in his five year old brain for a moment. “You don’t like him?” He kicked the ball back to Yamato once again. 

“Not exactly. We didn’t really end on the best of terms. Just… don’t worry about it, okay?” Yamato tried his best not to sound exasperated; Taichi was his least favorite subject. He kicked the ball back to Daisuke. 

“Well, I like him.” Kick. 

“You should. He’s your dad.” Kick. 

“Do you like me?” Daisuke looked up at Yamato, his eyes big as he lobbed the soccer ball back at him. “Even though I’m his kid?” 

“Yeah, you’re fine.” Yamato sighed deeply. He didn’t kick the ball back, instead kept it imprisoned underneath his heel. “Listen, Daisuke, I need to get back home. That’s enough soccer for today, alright?” 

Daisuke nodded, trotting over to Yamato. He released his soccer ball from underneath his foot and Daisuke gathered it up in his arms. The two walked back into the apartment building together, Yamato wiping sweat from his brow. It really was an uncomfortable day, too hot and different and strange. He didn’t like it. 

“Yamato!” Daisuke said, when they had reached his door. “Thank you!” And with that, the five year old was off, running down the hallway and up the stairs. 

Well, at least Taichi had taught him enough manners to say thank you. 

Slumping back into his house, Yamato had a strange feeling rising in him. It was hard to pin down, and as he fell down onto his couch he was trying to chase down what exactly the sensation was. He sat with his chin in his hands, staring crossly into his own brain. 

Something about hanging out with Daisuke had been incredibly jarring. Yamato didn’t even want to call it hanging out, exactly, just making up for all the drama that had taken place right in front of his little five year old eyes. 

Yamato liked the kid, begrudgingly; it was hard for him not to. It made him miss when Takeru had been a kid like that, full of life and energy. They used to run around the house together, when they were really young, before all the feuds between their parents had begun. Takeru had been so young, he probably didn’t remember much of the fighting, but it had been an eye opener for Yamato as a kid. 

Kicking the ball back and forth with Daisuke had been almost nostalgic, in its own way. Yamato squinted, wrinkling his nose. 

It had almost been like hanging out with a younger version of Taichi. 

Horror dawned on poor, simple Yamato, who smacked his head with one hand. What an awful thought. Taichi and Daisuke were similar, of course they were, Taichi was supposed to be his father, wasn’t he? 

Stricken, Yamato looked at his hands. He could hear the sounds of Daisuke’s distinct stomping in the apartment above, and he felt an awful loss. That kid was too much like Taichi, too much, and Yamato knew he would have to move out soon before his life was thrown into crisis. 

Yamato fell onto his side, wishing he had not made that horrible realization. It was so obvious, now, and he wanted to cling onto his anger and hate Daisuke, too, to call him the hellspawn of his worst enemy, but he couldn’t. 

He didn’t hate Daisuke, but Daisuke was exactly like Taichi. What could that mean? Yamato was a master at over complicating his thoughts, and a dangerous and impossible math equation was forming in his mind. 

Wait, but it was simple. What was he doing? Daisuke had done no wrong, he was only five, but Taichi was an awful person. Of course. Taichi had abandoned all his friends and disappeared for years. It was an answer that he could rationalize. 

Yamato was satisfied with that. His life was ending, sure, but at least he had his dignity. He nodded to himself, the perfect picture of fulfillment. 

It was then that a knock came to the door, and Yamato sat up, disgruntled. He lifted himself from the couch with some effort and brought himself to open the door handle, sure he knew who his patron must be. 

“Daisuke, I told you I was busy for the rest of the day, didn’t I?” Yamato busied himself with fixing his coat. 

“Uh, yeah, sorry, I’m not Daisuke.” 

Yamato’s eyes flew open, and for the second time, he stood in front of Taichi Yagami in a doorway. He swore he would be better than Taichi, he would be holier-than-thou, and he would not fly off the handle, just calmly tell him to get out of his door. 

“Calm down, man, just hear me out,” Taichi put his hands up, laughing in an anxious way. 

“What did I say last night? I said I did not want to hear it. Get out.” 

“Wait, wait, hang on,” Taichi’s hands waved, and Yamato watched them coldly, wanting to bite them straight off. This guy had some nerve. “I was just thinking about it, and I wanted to call Sora and Mimi, like you said. Do you have their number?” 

Yamato was glaring, although he was taken aback. He tapped his foot on the floor, thinking about it before he raised his eyebrows. 

“I do have it. I keep in touch with my friends. I let them know that I’m not dead.” 

“Ouch. That’s fine. I deserve it. Can you give it to me?” 

“Uh…” Yamato squinted at his feet, and then at Taichi’s. He was wearing slippers, like some grandpa. Yamato thought about it, and then he thought about it some more, tapping his chin. “Let me see… No.” 

In a last moment of spite and smugness, he slammed the door in Taichi’s face. He was beautiful, statuesque, the perfect human being who had kept his cool. Had Yamato lost his temper? No, sir, he had not. 

It wasn’t until around three am the next morning when Yamato, unable to sleep, began to doubt himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look!!!! i did it!!!!!! i hope you all enjoyed!!!!!! feel free to comment and whatever SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG !!!


	3. Chapter 3

If things were to go the way that Yamato wanted them to, he would be five years into the future and working a fulfilling job. He would live closer to Takeru and casually chat with people who he could fool into thinking he was somebody who didn’t care about anything. 

Life didn’t turn out that way. It was fine by him; Yamato never explicitly believed that things would turn out how he wanted them, and nine times out of ten he was right. The things that went well were cereal box toys, old jeans still fitting him, and finding pennies on the ground. He wasn’t a rockstar in a famous band, but the small things counted. 

If things had gone Yamato’s way, he would have slammed that door and never had to think about Taichi ever again. 

Against his own wishes, was finding himself descending down a very long and foreboding staircase of thought. 

Sun was peeking out of Yamato’s windows after many good hours of obsessive thinking, a nearly sleepless night caused by all of the stress that had been thrust so suddenly into his life. He’d awoken early and with anxiety and doubt beginning to fill him, his mind a beehive buzzing constantly and busily without rest, and had been unable to lull himself back into sleep. 

He kept his covers pulled over his head, a flimsy armor from the world around him. He wished to remain under his blankets, somewhat warm and safe from anybody who would want to bother him. Time was a factor-- he had to go back to his job in a few hours, but Yamato didn’t want to leave his own bed. 

He realized at that point that he had been a bit impulsive. He’d replayed the scene in his brain over and over again; Taichi waving his hands, looking awkward and nervous, Yamato snapping at him and slamming the door in his face. Perhaps he had not kept his cool. 

If possible, Yamato would have stayed frozen inside of his own head, but duty called. With feet made out of lead, he managed to pull himself together and make himself look somewhat presentable, though there was no hiding the heavy bags underneath his eyes. Despite feeling so shitty, Yamato would just have to bear it and make his income for the day. 

He forced himself out the door. His eyes were kept to the ground, not wanting to have to exchange pleasantries with anybody on his way to work when a bushy tuft of brown hair by the stairs caught his eye. 

It was a small body, trying and failing to make himself inconspicuous by the stairway. Yamato squinted. 

“Dad, he’s there! He’s coming out of his room,” a voice that sounded suspiciously like Daisuke’s whispered loudly. “Should I get him now?”  
“Shh, stay there,” quietly whispered another, more adult sounding voice. 

Yamato’s stomach dropped. He jerked himself back, attempting to make his escape before anything could happen. He just needed to get down the hall, just a few long strides and he could get away. 

“Yamato!” Daisuke called to him, running so fast that he nearly took a spill in the middle of the corridor, hopping from foot to foot. “Wait up!” 

Dammit. If it was Taichi he could be short and just tell him to leave, but Yamato couldn’t handle hurting a little kid’s feelings. He had a feeling that had been a strategic move. 

“What?” He said, scowling and attempting not to look as annoyed as he really felt. It was a hard balance, trying to be nice to the kid but also let Taichi know from wherever he was watching that he was not okay with this. “I’m on my way to work.” 

“I have a message for you!” Daisuke looked so proud of himself, puffing out his chest and procuring a rumpled piece of paper from his fist. Yamato was deeply displeased, taking the paper from him and unfolding it cautiously. 

Inside, words were written in washable marker. He scanned the message begrudgingly, wishing he could rip it up and throw it at Taichi. He would be civil. 

_Yamato,_

_Sorry for bombarding you yesterday! I know you don’t think the best of me right now (I wouldn’t be too happy either! haha), but I really don’t mean you any harm. I know we haven’t gotten along well in the past, but I would really like to get into contact with my old friends_

_Could you write down Sora and Mimi’s number on the back and pass it back to Daisuke? (Look, it’s almost like passing notes in school again!)_

_Taichi :)_

Underneath where Taichi had signed, Daisuke had written his name as well in big, shaky letters. Yamato read the message skeptically a few times over before he pushed it back to Daisuke, defiance roiling in his belly. The kid looked disappointed, staring up at him with big eyes. 

Frankly, the tone that Taichi wrote with was disturbing. He was coming off like a complete asshole. How could he be writing so cheerfully? Yamato had already told him no and slammed the door in his face-- he couldn’t have possibly given him a clearer answer than that. 

“Look, kid, I’ve really got to go to work,” Yamato told him, rubbing his temples tiredly. “Can you tell your dad not to write me notes?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Daisuke said, looking away and fidgeting a little before he shot off to run back to his dad. Yamato didn’t look back to see what Taichi’s expression would look like. 

He made his way to his job as briskly as possible, doing his best to ward off all of his doubts. Yamato was aware of his own hypocrisy: he had told Taichi he needed to apologize to Mimi and Sora and everybody else-- he just didn’t want them to get hurt. 

Yamato could very clearly see Taichi calling them all and making things right, only to get up and leave them all again. It would shatter them all beyond repair, and his friends were too kind, they had always seen Taichi in a good light. They wouldn’t know what hit them. 

He, however, had seen Taichi at his worst, and knew that he wasn’t good. He had to protect his friends from him. It was as simple as that. 

Work was slow and as boring as usual. The store was close to empty with everybody busy on a Monday, and with nothing to occupy himself Yamato was forced to be this his thoughts once more. He watched the hours tick by agonizingly slow and wanted to tear out his hair, though he knew that being back at his apartment wouldn’t be much better. 

Not wanted to go back home immediately in case he was ambushed again, he stopped in to get some groceries. Yamato had been adept at cooking since he was young, and he’d always enjoyed experimenting with the combinations of flavor and texture and the way the things he made could satisfy the nagging perfectionism he’d always had.

He hadn’t cooked his own meal in awhile with work tiring him out, and he took care to pick out ingredients that were within his budget. Cooking had always been therapeutic for him; maybe it could help him take his mind off of things. 

His breath was held as he made his way up to his apartment, glancing around suspiciously before he let himself in. He was safe: there was no sign of the devil or his offspring. 

With his return home peaceful, Yamato was safe to do what he wanted. He tied the ends of his apron on securely and began to prepare his meal, his movements clean and precise as he washed vegetables and chopped things up. 

It was probably too much food for a single adult living alone, but he didn’t mind; Yamato appreciated the work and the methodical process of it, allowing himself to let go of his thoughts and turn off his overcooked brain for awhile. It was a break that he’d needed desperately after all of the stress he had been under. 

He managed to take a break for a moment, stepping away and wiping sweat from his brow. He almost felt recharged, his mood improved. 

That was about when a knock resounded on his door. 

Yamato felt his blood pressure spike instantly. 

He just stood there for a moment, glaring at his front door and debating whether or not he should answer. It seemed that every time he opened his front door something weird happened. He didn’t trust it anymore. His door was turning into something like Pandora’s Box. 

He edged his way over to the door reluctantly, twisting the knob and pulling it open. As expected, there stood Taichi. 

“So, Yamato, I-- Wait! Don’t slam the door again!” 

“Why not?” Yamato shot at him, putting his hand on his waist, his other hand positioned to throw the door shut with all his might if Taichi gave him the wrong answer. 

“Just hear me out,” Taichi laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. “You were the one who told me I should call them, weren’t you?” 

Yamato was unimpressed. “I don’t trust you,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Now you have a change of heart? What about a year ago? Two years? Three? You’re flighty and you change your mind too fast. You think I’ll just let you work your way back into their lives, only to decide to disappear again?” 

Taichi’s expression fell instantly. “Yamato, it wasn’t something I just decided.” 

“I don’t care,” Yamato said, his tone brisk. “Go get a phone book. I don’t want anything to do with you.” 

With the final stab given, Yamato banged the door shut as hard as he could, the slam reverberating loudly throughout his apartment and making his knees shake. As the roaring in his ears died down, he let out a large breath that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. 

The air was silent. Yamato wiped his hands on his jeans with fingers that were trembling, taking a moment to try to collect himself. He rubbed at his eyes hard, finally able to relax his muscles after a long moment. 

Suddenly, having never left the spot he was standing, Taichi’s voice sounded behind the door. 

“I just have to make you trust me, right?!” The sound was muffled, but it was still audible and Yamato felt his blood run cold. “I’ll show you how much this means to me! I won’t give up, Yamato!” 

Taichi’s voice faded off, and Yamato listened to the sounds of his footsteps walking away, his eyes wide. 

He stood there for a long time before he finally was able to walk off, startled as he remembered he had been preparing food, flustered and tripping over himself as he went to put the final touches on his dish. 

Yamato ate his food quietly, but his mind was racing so fast he could barely taste the hard work he had put into making it. 

There was no way. 

He settled himself into bed early. He was bearing an ugly headache, throbbing painfully behind his eyes. Yamato knew for sure it was stress induced. He was going to have a heart attack one of those days. 

His cell phone sounded behind him, blaring a rock song that he enjoyed but as his ringtone usually scared him half to death, though he could never remember to change it. He picked the thing up, squinting at the screen in the dark. 

The caller ID read Sora and Mimi, and Yamato set his phone down at his bedside, guilt rising in his belly. He hadn’t spoken to them since the day he met Taichi again; he wasn’t ready to let them know what was happening, but he couldn’t stand to lie to them. It felt extremely wrong to talk to them like nothing was happening and that he was okay, as if the friend they’d been worried about for years hadn’t moved into the apartment above him. 

No. He couldn’t reach out to them yet. Not until he made Taichi leave him alone. 

There was no way Taichi could be that persistent. 

\-- 

As it turned out, Taichi was that persistent. 

When he left for work that morning, a note was pinned to his front door. It had only one word written on it: _Digits?_ Yamato crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. 

The tormenting did not end there. He returned from work with Daisuke waiting for him, popping out from the stairs and yammering at him to go talk to Taichi. Yamato politely declined and made his way inside. 

Yamato took out the trash that evening, looking around cautiously before he left to make sure there was nobody to bombard him. When he came back, Taichi had positioned Daisuke by the door once again. Yamato didn’t even let the kid speak, his just pointed wordlessly at the stairs. Daisuke scampered away. 

Yamato’s phone rang again that evening. He didn’t pick up. 

The next morning, another note was taped to his door. 

_I need that number!_

Frustrated, Yamato stomped back into his apartment and snatched a pen off of the table. He scribbled a message back underneath Taichi’s letters, the lines of his words harsh with how hard he was pressing the pen down. 

_Two words: restraining order._

He went to work fidgety and annoyed, landing him in his manager’s office for snapping at a customer. He apologized and went home deflated. When he arrived, there was no five year old positioned to catch him. The paper on his door was gone. 

Good. Hopefully Taichi had given up. 

Yamato slept fitfully that night. He tossed and turned under his covers and fell into light sleeps only to wake up again disoriented and irritated, too hot and too cold and too numb and too emotional. 

Leaving his apartment that morning, he expected to see a note on his door. He even turned around and looked for it, scanning the whole hallway for any messages. Uneasiness filled him, and he left for work silently. 

Had Taichi really given up that easily? Yamato scoffed at him in his mind. He’d known, deep down, that he would stop trying. He was unreliable. 

It was strange, but somehow Yamato had almost believed in him. Somewhere deep inside, he had hoped Taichi would redeem himself; it made him feel gross. It almost made him angry. Why had Taichi acted like he would prove him wrong only to give up? 

Taichi was a coward. 

Yamato was proven wrong when he returned to his door that evening. There was a new note there, and he felt air leave his lungs as he stared at the entrance to his own home like it was a ghost. His expression flatlined into something serious, he plucked the message off of his front door to read. 

_You don’t have to give me their number straight away. Just let me talk to you and convince you. You know where to find me!_

Yamato read the note a few times, and then he stuck it in his pocket. 

Taichi, theoretically, lived just a short walk up the stairs and then to the right, directly above Yamato. The walk up to his apartment seemed like miles, however, and Yamato was contemplating just going back home. 

He just couldn’t go back. It was extremely uncomfortable to knock on Taichi’s door, as if he was admitting to defeat. Yamato had to convince himself otherwise. It wasn’t that he was losing, he was just giving Taichi an inch. Just one chance to change his mind. 

Yamato knocked on the door, tapping his foot anxiously and tugging at his clothes. It was almost like he was eleven years old again, trying to work up the nerve to ask the other kids if they wanted to play with him. Taichi had been the only kid to approach him first. 

God, that was an awful thing to remember in that moment. 

As expected, Taichi opened the door, and Yamato was almost angry at him for it, a bit surprised at how irrational he’d grown in the past week. Taichi looked startled to see him, blinking in shock. 

“Yamato?” He asked, dumbfounded. 

“Why are you so surprised?” Yamato rolled his eyes, trying to cover up the fact that he was embarrassed, looking away and digging the note out of his pocket. He waved it at Taichi. “You’re the one who invited me.” 

“Yeah, but…” Taichi shrugged his shoulders, brushing hair out his face and smiling lopsidedly at him. Yamato could tell he was nervous. “I didn’t think you’d actually come, y’know!” 

He puffed up defensively, and Taichi began to wave his arms, laughing loud and nervous. 

“Sorry, sorry! Do you want to talk? Let me just--” He turned around and cupped his hand over his mouth, his voice rising in volume. “Daisuke, I’m going out for a minute!” 

“Okay, dad!” Daisuke’s little voice came back. Taichi shut the door behind him carefully. The scene was painfully similar to when Yamato had first met Taichi again-- and then screamed at him. In his defense, Taichi’s sudden appearance had taken him completely off guard. 

“So.” 

“So? Say what you wanted to say.” 

Taichi ran his fingers through his hair, his expression suddenly serious, nodding at him slowly. 

“I just wanted to say that… I would never hurt all my friends again,” he breathed, looking away. “If they’re still my friends. I wouldn’t disappear again. I really do want to make this right, Yamato-- I’ve always been too scared. But, you really gave me a well needed kick in the ass.” 

“I’ve always kicked your ass,” Yamato said breezily, crossing his arms. He regretted his words immediately. 

What was _that?_ Some sort of throwback? He had to watch his mouth! An awkward silence spanned between the two of them for a moment, Taichi scratching his head and Yamato looking anywhere but at him, embarrassed beyond belief. 

“I just don’t know, Taichi,” he told him eventually, trying to break the painful silence. “We’ll see. I’ll… I’ll think about it.” 

“That’s okay.” Taichi seemed to let out a bit of his hair, stretching his arms over his head. “Man, it really has been a long time, huh? Five years since I've spoken to anybody, really… And, you…” Taichi trailed off, looking at him thoughtfully. Yamato felt almost violated. 

“What? What about me?” 

“I haven't spoken to you for even longer. When did we last speak? High school? God,” he laughed, dragging his fingers through his hair. 

Yamato gave him a long glance, his expression falling a little bit. He paused and shrugged, a little uneasy just talking to Taichi like this normally. “So…” He searched for words, pausing for a moment and unable to help smile a little. “Was Daisuke helping out with all of those plans?” 

“Oh, yeah! He really likes you. He kept wanting to help do stuff, like signing his name or going to find you for me.” Taichi’s expression was soft, and Yamato was watching him pick at the hem of his sweater, the fabric there already frayed. “He kept asking about you. Thanks for being so kind to him, despite-- you know. Thanks.” 

“Not a problem,” Yamato mumbled. “He’s a good kid.” 

The corners of Taichi’s lips quirked up. “I know. He saved my life.” He stared off for a moment, the look on his face going unreadable. Yamato cleared his throat a little. 

“So, he’s yours?” 

“Mmhmm. Sure is,” Taichi turned to look at him again. “That topic is a little… I don’t want to go too much into that, okay?”

“Okay.” Yamato was feeling weird about the whole situation, getting ready to make his leave. Talking to Taichi was just too strange. 

“Yamato?” Taichi asked before he could open his mouth to announce his exit. “If you don’t mind me asking… How is everybody? How are you?” 

“I’m fine.” He glanced at Taichi, shrugging a little bit. “I talk to Sora and Mimi a lot, they’re good. Takeru’s really into basketball. He’s living back with Natsuko for awhile. Koushiro’s been working a ton, he’s gone back to school to get some fancy research degree, I don’t really understand it. Joe’s… well, you know, doctor schedule. Can’t get ahold of him, either.” 

Taichi’s eyes were big when Yamato looked at him, startled by the emotion there. It was tough for him to see him like this; he’d been demonizing Taichi for a long time. He’d just been the heartless man who left his friends behind. To see him so invested was jarring. 

“And Hikari?” 

“She’s fine. She’s been teaching. Taichi-- you don’t know this?” Yamato’s tone was chastising, squinting at him. “You haven’t even spoken to her?” 

Taichi’s head was bowed, shoulders hunched in a way that Yamato knew was guilt. “A little bit. Not much.” 

“Taichi…” 

“I know, okay? It’s awful.” He laughed quietly. “All this time…” 

Looking at Taichi now, he seemed a lot more sullen. Yamato hadn’t taken the time to really look at him before, he’d been more focused on his own outrage, but Taichi didn’t seem like he was faring the best. He was thinner than Yamato remembered, bags under his eyes and his hair an unkempt mess. What had Taichi been doing the past five years? 

“Taichi,” Yamato mumbled, not good at consolation. He had been the only one who could calm Taichi down once upon a time, but it had been a long time since then. “I’ll give you their number.” 

“Really?” He looked up, startled. 

“You have to call them tonight. Don’t fuck around, okay? You need to call.” 

Taichi was wearing a strange expression, and Yamato could recall when there was a time he knew what Taichi was feeling at any given moment. He dug his cellphone out of his pocket, pulled up Sora and Mimi’s contact information and tossed it to him. 

“Write it down. You need to make things right.” 

“I will, Yamato… Thank you.” 

\-- 

Yamato went to bed that night feeling different. It wasn’t good or bad, but it was definitely something and he couldn’t quite place it. What do you call it when you offer kindness to somebody you hate, somebody you’ve had a complicated history with? 

He couldn’t think of a term for it, really. It wasn’t forgiveness. He hadn’t forgiven Taichi. He just hadn’t shut him out completely that time around. 

His cell phone rang as he was about to doze off, blinking awake immediately. It was Sora and Mimi; Yamato smiled to himself, knowing they’d be relieved that Taichi was back. He must’ve called them. He hit the answer button. 

“Hello?” 

“Yamato! Where have you been? Why haven’t you been picking up?” Mimi’s voice came exploding through the phone, startling him with it’s intensity. 

“We were really worried,” Sora chimed in. “Were you busy?” 

Yamato’s confusion was audible through the phone. “No, I… You don’t have anything to tell me?” 

“What?” Mimi complained loudly. 

“Mimi had got a promotion at work, I suppose… What exactly is going on over there?” 

“Uh…” Yamato’s head was swirling, rubbing at his head. He couldn’t explain this to them. He was frustrated, annoyed that Taichi had put him into this position. “I’ll call you back tomorrow.” 

“Yamato, wait! What are you--” 

He ended the call. Yamato dropped his phone onto his bed and groaned loudly, hoping the stupid thing had been lost in the sea of blankets. He was ticked, and though in his rational mind he knew that Taichi didn’t necessarily have to call right that night he had told him to do so, and thus Taichi was harming Yamato specifically. 

Yamato pulled on his slippers and stomped up the stairs, making as much as a racket as he could. He didn’t care how the neighbors thought of him; _fuck_ the neighbors! He wanted Taichi to hear his steps and know that his doom was approaching. 

Knocking on the door impatiently, he tapped his foot all the way until it opened for him, looking down and seeing a Daisuke that would have looked very stricken to him, if he hadn’t been focused solely on committing Taichi’s murder that night. 

“Um, Yamato, now’s not really a good time--” 

“Where’s your father?” He interjected, not listening to Daisuke and instead pushing him aside gently. He was an adult; there was no five year old that could overpower him. 

“No, he’s--” 

“Taichi!” Yamato called, scanning the room. There was no sign of Taichi anywhere, just an exceedingly messy apartment. He could possibly have been hiding under piles of trash, or have even made his escape before Yamato got there. 

His theories were all disproven as he saw the door to the bedroom, identical to Yamato’s apartment, knowing he had found him. He elbowed his way into the room, his eyes finally onto Taichi’s form. 

What he saw pulled him back to reality immediately. 

There Taichi was, curled into a ball on the bed, his body shaking violently. He turned his head to look at Yamato, his face tear-streaked and ugly, burying his face back into the blankets and letting out a shaking sob. 

Yamato’s heart was in the pit of his stomach, shocked into silence until Daisuke appeared next to him, his face tilted up at him and looking at him unsurely. 

“D-Daisuke? What’s going on?” 

The child sighed a little, looking away sullenly. 

“I told you it was a bad time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everybody!! i hope you enjoyed; this is the longest chapter yet fun fact!! 
> 
> school is starting up soon so i may be slower but ill keep updating, i have this whole monster outlined so it would be disappointing if i didnt keep the ball rolling :") see you next time !!


End file.
